Interregnum
by Rickard Steiner
Summary: Uriel Septim is dead, Cyrodiil is in chaos and only the superhuman efforts of the plucky few will halt the advance of Mehrunes Dagon and his minions in their hellish invasion of Nirn.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My second attempt at an Oblivion story, roughly following the events set in motion in the game. I'm not used to writing this size of chapter and larger, so feedback on that would be particularly useful for me. Reviews in general, in fact, would be really welcome.**

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Chapter 1.

Maraea woke from an uneasy sleep in near total darkness. At first, the dregs of her slumber number her senses and her emotions, and she just lay there with her eyes closed, vacantly trying to recall the strange dreams that she had been having. However, within a minute of her waking, things started to come to her senses, mainly unpleasant in nature. She was lying on cold, wet stone, and the air on her face and arms was bitingly cold too, and smelled foul.

Having been curled up whilst sleeping, Maraea attempted to unfurl herself and sit up, but at the very first bit of movement every place imaginable seemed to be prompted to ache savagely. The young half-elf winced and uttered an almost indistinguishable moan and attempted to sit up. She found to her consternation that she was shivering wildly, and upon closer inspection she found that her clothes were drenched, feeling many times colder than anything else. They were not her clothes either; the unpleasant scratching of sack cloth and the itch of goat's hair on her skin confirmed this.

She could hear that there was some form of opening above her, and looking up with considerable difficulty, she could make out a small, glassless window through which the howling storm outside threw torrential amounts of rain on her already soaked form. A flash of lightning lit up the room; the bars on the window, the chains hanging from the ceiling, the bare, crumbling stone walls; Maraea was in a dungeon. She was a prisoner in the Imperial Prison.

The shivering and the cold were becoming unbearable, and Maraea was desperate to stop it. She could just make out in the gloom some sort of bedroll in a small alcove to her right, and it took her remaining strength to haul herself onto it, collapsing exhausted onto the musty, straw-stuffed sacking.

After a few minutes of lying there she realised that it did little good; there was nothing to cover her and protect her from the cold, and water just soaked into the mouldy fabric making it impossible to warm up. Very faintly, she began to cough as well, which added to her distress, and tears welled up in her eyes. If she continued to deteriorate, she wouldn't last long here.

Despite her mind, which was still finding hard to think straight or recall anything, she had an idea. Slowly sitting up in a cross-legged position in the alcove, she rested her arms across her thighs, cupping the two hands where they met, and willed the magicka inside her to obey her command.

"_Fire…"_

Maraea had by no means been trained in the ways of magicka; just tapping into the limited measures of power she had felt difficult and awkward, and what few spells she had in her repertoire were a result of casual experimentation in private, and were woefully weak and crude. The magicka fought every step of the way down her arms, and by the time the first sparks and flames appeared in her hand, Maraea had broken out in a cold sweat. Nevertheless, a slight relief calmed her quivering figure as the magical fire kindled in her hands, bright, smokeless and above all hot, almost to the point of being painful on her hands which lay a few inches below its point of origin.

Now all she could do was wait and attempt to sustain the spell, which she reckoned at best, she could get twenty minute's worth of, perhaps not in her current state though, but by the time she had dried off and warmed up a little she figured she could. Not being able to do much else, she surveyed what little she could see, now that she had a source of light to aid her. There wasn't much to see, just the oppressive, grey stones which comprised the walls and the rough mortar of the floor on which a puddle was steadily creeping over from the direction of the window.

Directly opposite the alcove against the far wall was a rickety-looking chair and an equally rickety-looking table on which was placed a tan jug, cup and plate. The plate was empty but nonetheless it made Maraea think of how hungry she was, which was incredibly, to the point of her stomach having passed the raking hunger pangs and was instead experiencing the all-too familiar sensation as if it had shrunk into a small, tight knot. She didn't know how long she had been in the prison, but she had definitely not eaten anything significant for at least three days prior to her memory drawing blanks. Still, the fact that there even was a plate suggested that she would be fed at some point, which gave her some semblance of looking forward to the coming day.

Her attention now turned to herself. It wasn't hard to miss that she was covered in bruises, from her shins, all over her torso, to her face. They were severe enough that Maraea didn't have to see them to know that they were large, ugly purple marks, deliberately made by someone, or something. She wracked her memory for some time, trying to find A partial memory flickered in her mind's eye; there were soldiers in armour, grabbing her roughly with their iron-clad hands, hauling her from the floor. Lying next to her, a man lay face down, motionless. She was trying to get herself free, panicking, shouting, screaming for help, but the wall of cuirasses closed in on her, and everything went dark.

She suddenly found herself in reality again, the last echoes of her screams resounding off the walls and further out into places which she had yet to see. Maraea hadn't realised that she had been actually screaming, and she was once again shivering and, and though the conjured flame had gone out, it was not because of the cold. She sat in the gloom for a while, waiting for the panic, which had also translated into reality, to subside. She knew the fragments of memory were true but little else. Perhaps with more thought she could unravel what had happened to her. She would do that in the morning, after some rest. With that in mind, she removed the sack cloth sandals which had clumsily been bound to her feet and straightened herself out for sleep.

The storm outside had yet to subside as the torrential rain and howling winds battered the walls of the prison, the draft from the window making the chains and manacles which hung nearby clank like ghastly wind chimes. However, above this, Maraea's ears identified another noise as she lay on her bedroll. It was barely discernable, though the harder Maraea listened the more distinct it became. After nearly a minute of listening, she identified it. Someone was chuckling nearby and from its character, it belonged to an elf. That ruled out the voice belonging to a jailor. Curiosity got the better of her, and she cautiously tilted her head so that she could see presumably where the door to her cell was. The gate was indeed there, and in the corridor beyond it no fires or torches burned, but from the blackness something was indeed burning; the two leering, red eyes, of a Dunmer were floating there.

"Who-" Maraea said in a voice which was small enough to belong to a mouse. "Who's there?"

"Well well, a loud one eh?" the Dunmer sneered in a poisonously smug voice, ignoring the question. "I'm sure there'll be plenty more of that until you're swinging from the gallows." With that, the Dunmer broke into a bout of manic cackling, his eyes narrowing to slits as he did. Maraea was initially slightly fearful of the impish figure, but she eventually reserved herself to ignoring his taunts and mad laughter, and went back to trying to catch some sleep.

However, the longer she ignored the pest, the louder and angrier his raving became. Once he had thrown his share of crockery into Maraea's cell, he was well and truly livid.

"How dare you ignore me! ME! VALEN DRETH!" he screamed, rattling the bars of his cell and banging his manacles on them. Maraea tried to remain silent. This pathetic excuse of a man obviously had some sort of attention disorder combined with generally being an awful person, and she wished to have nothing more to do with him partly because of that, and partly because she feared him. However, the raving continued on and on, and finally, almost in tears from tiredness, she had to admit a frustrating defeat. Steadily she got to her feet, slipped on the sandals and walked to the door of her cell.

The Dunmer, Dreth, ceased his tantrum almost immediately, and even before she could make out his face, she could tell that he was leering at her again with a renewed scorn for her.

"Can't you just let me get some sleep, please?" she said, her voice quivering slightly with the effort of trying to stand up to him. Dreth spat on the floor in disgust.

"So, the harlot wants a little shut-eye before she meets her end?" he said sarcastically. "I wouldn't think of it my dear little whore, I simply _can't_ let you spend your final hours alone. I tell you what, the guard owes me a favour; we can share a cell. From the looks of things you enjoy it rough: I'm more than happy to oblige." His laughter erupted once more to Maraea's annoyance.

"So then, what kind of worthless scum are you then?" he asked in a tone which was both mocking and aloof. Maraea's elven features were not obvious, her pointed ears were hidden mostly by her red-brown hair, and she had neither the height nor the complexion of her Altmer father, though years of poor nourishment were probably the cause of her lack of height and almost emaciated frame. Her eyes too were abnormal for both races, evidently being a side effect of having parents of differing race, being two large, turquoise orbs which seemed almost iridescent in light. "Imperial? Breton?" Dreth continued, "no…you're much to stupid to be either, why, I've seen mud crabs with greater powers of conversation than you." Then Dreth noticed the tip of Maraea's left ear, protruding very slightly from beneath her hair.

"A half-blood!" He said, the distain in his face magnifying. "You're nothing but a worthless mongrel harlot! You're an abomination, you hear me? _An abomination_. Do you know what we do to abominations like you where I come from?"

Maraea gave up, and quietly turned around and, curling up as small as she could in the corner of the alcove, tried to ignore the dreadful man across the way whose voice was growing, once again, louder and more hysterical in her absence.

"You're going to DIE in here! Do you hear me! You're going to DIE!"

Maraea must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew she was lying down on the bedroll, and her cell was flooded with morning light; the low sun casting as many of its rays as it could physically fit through the small, barred window, accompanied by the early raucous of songbirds outside. It was still fairly chilly in the room, though the sunlight offered some warmth to Maraea, and the fact that she was no longer sopping wet helped her considerably. To her relief, Valen Dreth appeared to have given up on his obnoxious crusade to make her miserable, a faint wheezing snore being audible from his cell's direction.

Then the coughing started. At first they were sporadic and Maraea was able to stifle them, but before long her body woke up enough to realise quite how ill she was. When she tried to move, her joints ached profusely in protest, and her limbs felt like lead and were ungainly to the point of being useless. A fever gripped her face and beads of sweat were already beginning to run down her forehead, but the worst was the coughing and sniffing. At least the weakness and fever were quiet; Maraea could bear those, but her stomach dropped away at the thought of waking Dreth with the noise of her ailment. She had tried multiple times to convince herself that Dreth could do nothing to hurt her; she had only been upset as much as she had been the previous night because of the state she was in, but even so, she was hardly any better, and Dreth would be sure to capitalise on her health.

For what felt like hours, she silenced the greater part of the coughs, but eventually she had to give in, and she coughed and gasped and whooped in a fit, fit to wake the entire Imperial City. Struggling for air, she couldn't do anything but lie there, burning yet freezing at the same time, and trying to stay out of sight. However, her worst fears were confirmed when she realised that the snoring had stopped, accompanied by muffled tap of sandals on stone flags. Incredibly he was already chuckling to himself already in a hushed, menacing tone which made Maraea's heart lurch unpleasantly. One night had been enough, another day would be unbearable, who knew how long she would be here? Days? Months? Years?

"Oh _hello_," Dreth finally said after a painful silence, sounding about as friendly and sincere as one of those hags that Maraea remembered from childhood fairytales, just before they caught and ate their unfortunate victim. "So _good_ of you to stay. I was looking forward to continuing last night's conversat-"

Both Dreth's and Maraea's attentions were suddenly diverted by the rattling of a door latch nearby, and the sound of armoured boots clanking and clattering down the corridor, getting louder and louder, closer and closer. Someone was coming; the guards were coming! Maraea peered out from the alcove. Opposite to her, Valen Dreth was almost dancing with excitement.

"Hear that? The guards are coming!" he exclaimed gleefully, "for _you!_" With that, he burst into another one of his cackles. Maraea wasn't paying attention to him now, however. This was it, was it? She was going to be strung up for a crime that she couldn't even remember. She had neither the will to protest, nor the strength to resist. Her mind was empty, her ears unhearing to the sound of the door to her cell screeching as it opened and to the voices of the Blades who now entered, her eyes unseeing to the man enrobed in Imperial finery who was the Emperor of Tamriel.

It appeared that none of the three Blades had seen Maraea tucked away where she was, and the leader, a fairly young, but cold-looking woman gave a start, and in a flash had her sword out, the tip of it digging harshly into Maraea's neck. Maraea's eyes met the woman's, and tears rolled down her cheeks silently as she suppressed another bout of coughs, to which Captain Renault, which was the woman's name and title, withdrew her blade slightly lest the prisoner's convulsions caused her to harm herself on its tip.

"There wasn't meant to be anyone here! This cell is supposed to be off-limits!" she barked angrily at the Blade next to her, to which he replied in a slightly flustered manner "A…a careless oversight by the Watch." Captain Renault sheathed her sword. The prisoner didn't pose an immediate threat, though just to be sure, she kept herself between the prisoner and her ward, ever wary.

"Prisoner; over in that corner," she said, pointing to where she meant. "Quickly." Maraea tried to sit up and then stand, but the effort simply resulted in more coughs, and she looked up at Captain Renault as if to both apologise for and explain her condition.

"Glenroy," the Captain said, ushering the Blade that had responded to her before, "get the prisoner out of the way."

"_Out of the way? What am I in the way of?" _She didn't get a chance to answer that for herself, as Glenroy hoisted her up with ease, as easily as if he were carrying a small child, albeit a child whose illness he was trying to avoid as he held her as far away from himself as he could manage, and put her down firmly on the chair on the other side of the room. Maraea surveyed her cell, feeling both relief that they hadn't come for her, and confusion, as the heavily armed group's motives were not known to her. On the far wall, the Captain and the Blade who had yet to speak were busy scrabbling along the walls, with their hands, and Glenroy was talking animatedly to the robed man in hushed tones, now and again peering over his shoulder suspiciously in Maraea's direction.

However, it was the robed man who intrigued her the most. Although obviously very old, his manner and his presence gave an obvious impression of authority. His robes surpassed anything she had ever seen. Satin, ermine, gold weave, it had it all, and around his neck hung the largest jewel that Maraea had ever seen.

"_Could it really be…?"_

Just at that moment, he looked in her direction. It had obviously meant to have been a simple glance, but then the man gave a start, a look of complete shock fixed on his pale features. Maraea was transfixed. She wanted to avert her own eyes, to hide from the man's prying eyes and not bring attention to herself, but all she could do stare back. It was the Emperor, Uriel Septim VII, she was sure of it.

The Emperor, now completely oblivious to what Glenroy was saying, walked over to her.

"Sire, I wouldn't-"

He gestured for the Blade to stop, and Glenroy immediately fell silent. Now the Emperor was towering over her, kneeling down to her height. Their faces were level now, only a few inches apart, so close that she could hear the Emperor breathing. It was as if everything about herself; mind, body and soul, was being laid bare, exposed by some unseen light, by the power of the Emperor's gaze.

"I know you," the Emperor spoke softly, "you are the one from my dreams…" For a moment his gaze wandered as the man thought, and then an awful look of bleak realisation crept onto his face, widening his eyes with an inner terror. "The this is the day." The Emperor stood to his full height which was significant even for younger men.

"Gods give me strength!"

The exclamation was powerful with the Emperor's cavernous voice and it seemed to fill the whole space. Maraea, despite her fear, couldn't help but feel concern for him, and so she piped up quietly.

"Sire, what's happened?" She said, almost in a whisper.

"Assassins have attacked my sons, and I am next."

"So…you're not here for me then? Why am I here? I…I can't even remember!" Her voice became louder as she spoke, causing the three Blades to stop what they were doing and turn round to check her. The Emperor shook his head.

"It does not matter what you have done. Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. In any case, your place is not here. I have served Tamriel for sixty-five years as her Emperor, and you too shall serve in your own way."

Maraea was in no position to argue, being too awestruck to say anything different, and the Emperor was about to continue, when suddenly, from behind him came the sound of gears and chains moving, and the sound of stone grinding against stone as the alcove disappeared to reveal a small, hidden passageway which led down further than Maraea could see.

"Please Sire, we must keep moving," Captain Renault said urgently, and without a word the Blades accompanied their Emperor down into the darkness.

For a few moments, Maraea sat there dumbstruck, trying to take in what had just happened. What did she have to do with the Emperor? Why had he said the things that he had said to her? Surely only the foolish and the desperate believed in dreams. She stared down the passageway. At first she was hesitant to follow; in her cell she would be fed, and if she deteriorated further she was sure that the jailors would not be cruel enough to deny her a healer. As it turned out, someone else made her mind up for her.

"Guards! a prisoner's escaping!" Maraea's heart was in her mouth as she turned to see Dreth screaming for the jailors, and staring directly at her, a look of such poisonous and jealous hatred in his eyes to be cheated of his victim and, no doubt in his warped opinion, his freedom, that Maraea was convinced that if the guards didn't get her, Dreth would certainly do his utmost to be the end of her. With that in mind, she hoisted herself up from her seat and started the long, treacherous descent into the black that awaited her.

"Don't let her get away! Mongrel! Harlot! Come back you filthy pile of guar dung, come back!"

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**A/N: Changes due to feedback:**

**1) 'pond scum' changed to 'worthless scum'.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A\N: Once again, I'd like to take an opportunity to give you a friendly reminder that feedback is very much appreciated. Changes due to a review will be made known at the bottom of every chapter from hereon in. Enjoy!**

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Chapter Two.

The going down the passage was tough going for Maraea, her sack cloth sandals providing next to no grip on the uneven floor. The entire passage having been dug through raw earth and stone with little attention paid to safety, and stray boulders and roots seemed to reach out with the specific intention of sending Maraea tumbling down the hole. Nevertheless, she gingerly progressed down and down, further and further, away from the enraged sounds of Valen Dreth. To her surprise, his voice petered out relatively quickly, and looking back, she couldn't see anything; the secret entrance to the tunnel must have closed by some means.

Finally, a faint, cold light became visible, which spurred Maraea on, getting stronger and stronger as she moved closer. She could make out the exit now; the tunnel had evidently made contact with a wall, and the diggers had simply removed the masonry when they got to it. From which way they had dug, Maraea didn't know. Eventually, after what felt like hours of frustrating progress she stumbled, coughing and spluttering out of the tunnel.

Quietly she made her way down the set of passages that the tunnel had broken into. Maraea soon found that she was in some sort of large stone complex, with high, vaulted ceilings and sturdy pillars which reminded her, along with the deathly silence and freezing cold, of a crypt, lit only by what few dirty shafts of light could filter through the artificial holes which presumably led to the surface. All Maraea could hear were her own footsteps echoing before and after her down the corridors, and she hoped to the Nine that the noise had not roused some unknown creature from its lair, nor the attention of the assassins who supposedly stalked the Emperor. However, nothing moved or stirred, save for the cobwebs, long abandoned by their spidery hosts, which floated, ghostly in the almost intangible draft coming up from the bowels of the labyrinth which lay ahead of her.

Maraea rounded a corner and was about to begin to descend down a small flight of stairs when she saw with horror what lay at its bottom. Six, unmoving, un-living figures were sprawled on the ground, their life's blood already filling the cracks and crevices in the stonework below them. Blood was also spattered over the steps of the stairs, indicating that they had not all been where they lay when the fatal blows that killed them had been dealt. Five of them were not known to Maraea, dressed in dark crimson robes which covered and shrouded their entire figures, with each of the stiffening bodies bearing the gory signs of a fight lost.

The sixth one lay huddled, facing the far wall, and though she was still a few metres away, Maraea didn't need to see the face of Captain Renault to recognise her in her distinct armour. After picking her way across the other bodies, she gazed down sadly at the unfortunate Blade, and wondered how she had died. Her face bore an expression of surprise, and the blood trickling from a small, dagger-sized hole in her armoured back indicated that she had been ambushed. Glancing over her shoulder, Maraea surveyed the other bodies.

"_These must be the assassins."_ After giving a short prayer for Captain Renault, Maraea began to look around the area for anything that might help her. She saw the dead Blade's katana lying loyally next to its fallen owner, and she initially considered taking it but decided firmly that its rightful place was where it had fallen. However, something inside her told her that she couldn't leave without something to defend herself with, and so she continued her search. Strangely enough, she couldn't find any signs of the assassin's weapons, though the lingering, unnatural presence which hung in the air about their bodies suggested to Maraea, even limited in the knowledge of magicka as she was, that they had relied on it, probably to summon weapons.

Maraea searched the area once more and then grimy came to the realisation that if she was going to find anything now, she would have to further disturb the dead. Her mother had always been incredibly superstitious, and it had rubbed off on her daughter; though Maraea did not believe in throwing powdered minotaur horn over your shoulder for luck, she was very much wary to disturb what shouldn't be disturbed. Nevertheless, she began to search, as quietly and respectfully as possible, through the pockets of the assassins.

On the first two, she found nothing, and something in her mind was telling her to stop; why disturb the rest of them when there's nothing to be had? However, as she checked the leather belt pouches of the third one, she felt something round and smooth in her hand, and pulling it out, she found it to be a glass potion bottle, full of murky liquid. Taking out the cork stopper, she sniffed the brew; apart from smelling vaguely herby, it did not have much of a scent. For a few moments, she racked her memory for the name of the unknown ingredient, but in the end, decided to move on and investigate further later.

Slightly more optimistic now at her prospects, and realising that she had no pockets with which to carry anything she might find, she undid the pouched belt and, fastening it firmly around her waist, she proceeded to search the fourth body more readily, coming out with another potion, an apple and what appeared to be a fairly cheap, bronze talisman in the shape of the rising sun, no bigger than a gold septim.

Suddenly something in Maraea's peripheral vision stirred, making her dart around with enough speed to nearly unbalance herself, only just preventing a scream from leaving her throat. The fourth assassin was moving. Maraea froze, watching terrified as the man, groaning with pain and drunk with blood loss, propped himself into a sitting position against a nearby wall. She wasn't sure if he had seen her or not, as his hooded face had not yet turned to see her, though her searching had by no means been quiet. Slowly, she began to edge away from him. He coughed and spat, red foam spattering everywhere, and with a moan of pain he surveyed the gash through his robe where his bowels, glistening wet and bloodied, protruded out.

Then, he looked up directly at Maraea, and for the first time his face became visible. He was human, an Imperial perhaps, about as young as she was with watery blue eyes and clean cut features, with a little of his tawny hair visible from the folds of his hood. For a moment, the two were motionless, each expecting the other to act first. Maraea, as it turned out, was the first to do anything. As much as she was sure the young man was dangerous, she simply did not have it in her to let anyone die alone. Without letting her gaze wander, and suppressing her coughs, she pulled out the first potion from its pouch and, getting as near as she dared, held it out to him.

Doubtless it was too late for any potion, and Maraea didn't even know if it was a healing potion, but nonetheless as a sign of trust, she offered it.

"_Please, take it," _she willed him.

The assassin looked confused for a moment, as if he couldn't quite comprehend what Maraea was trying to do, as if the act of friendliness was alien to him. Then his faced changed, and a queer, insane smile appeared on his face, one which Maraea definitely didn't like the look of. He attempted to laugh, and even though he was half choking on his own blood and bile he succeeded quietly. A dull orange light pulsated about his right hand, and Maraea jumped back in surprise as he raised it, an evil-looking piece of Daedric weaponry; a dagger, clutched in his hand. Maraea put the bottle back and bared her open palms as a sign of non-hostility. She would fight for her life if she had to, but as it was, she could not see any fight arising.

She was soon proved right. The man, still smiling, nodded once to her in acknowledgement, then positioned the dagger's blade above his heart.

"Paradise awaits me." The words came exactly as he plunged the dagger deep into his chest, and he gave one last laboured sigh as he slid to one side, dead, the dagger disappearing even before his head touched the ground. Maraea stood unmoving for a while, looking at the assassin's limp body for a while, hoping that he had at least been satisfied with his death. However, as Maraea was acutely aware that time was wasting, she let his body be and tried to open the only visible door in the area. It refused to open, and when Maraea peered through the chinks in between the slats of the door, she could see that it was barred from the other side; evidently the Blades were taking as many precautions as possible to halt followers. That was no good to Maraea though, and as there appeared to be no other way out, nor was there any way of getting over or under the door.

Again, she eyed Captain Renault's katana. She wasn't strong at the best of times, but perhaps she could pry the door open? She decided against it, but in looking in Renault's direction, Maraea noticed something glinting in the light which she hadn't seen before, as she hadn't cared to check the Captain's body. It was another blade, one with which Maraea knew was a familiar sight on the belts of private guards and noblemen in the Imperial City; a common steel short sword. Somehow, Maraea felt that Captain Renault would not miss this as much as her much more personal-looking katana; indeed, she would be glad that it came of further use, and with that in mind, she whispered 'thank you' as she carefully took the blade from its place. Trying her best not to scratch the blade, she slid it through a suitable crack in the door and pressed down hard on the hilt. To her surprise, the beam bopped out of its holders with relative ease, and as she tucked the sword into her belt, she pushed the door open and re-commenced her escape.

There were no sources of light in this area, so Maraea troublesomely cast the only spell she knew again, the fire in her hand giving her just enough light to navigate through the twisting passage. Again, she was also partly glad of its heat, as the temperature was steadily dropping with every step she took, and the prison garments were much to thin to help the situation. To make matters worse, the fever was as ravaging as ever; she knew that she ought to be freezing, with her breath now visible in front of her, but she felt like she was on fire, and the half of her that didn't appreciate the warmth that the flame brought pleaded with her to put it out.

She persevered, however, using the discomfort to spur herself more quickly through the passages, at times almost reaching the semblance of a jog, and soon enough, she could hear other noises than her own echoing off the walls, the clank of armour and the clash of weapons, accompanied by shouts and cries of both men and women locked in battle. Maraea suddenly found herself in the midst of it as she rounded a corner into a small, lit antechamber.

In the far corner, the two Blades and the Emperor had become penned in by the assassins, though from the pulverised bodies lying at the Blade's feet, they had prevented the them from reaching their quarry. Nevertheless, the odds weren't favourable, as four assassins stood ready to pounce. Maraea could see their conjured equipment clearly now; the black lacquered armour, its patterns swirling and swimming uneasily in the light, and the ugly, unearthly maces ready shatter bone and haemorrhage flesh.

It was mostly quiet now, as the assassins were holding back for the time being, the sound of their heavy breathing permeated through their masks, accompanied by the sound of Maraea's heart hammering and the rush of blood in her ears. They were so focused on their quarry that they had completely failed to notice that Maraea was only a few feet behind the nearest one. Maraea saw Glenroy's eyes flit to her for a moment, and gave her an almost non-present nod as if sanctioning her to do something, then once again his attention turned to the pack of wolves that encircled them hungrily.

Maraea had never, as far as she could remember, harmed anyone, but what she did next was without thought; with neither fear nor courage she took a step forward towards the nearest assassin. The assassin was completely taken off guard as Maraea silently wrapped one arm around his neck from behind, and, placing her hand over the eye holes of his mask, though taking care to not actually touch it, once again cast her spell. It didn't take long for the man, an elf by the general nature of his voice, to start screaming and flailing with all his breath and strength as the flames first ate through his closed eyelids, then through to his eyes, and the smell of cooking meat filled the immediate area. Maraea out of shock could not help but let go of the unfortunate man, and she stood there dumbly for a few seconds unable to do anything.

The commotion had caused enough of a distraction for Glenroy and the second Blade to capitalise on it, and in the few horrible seconds of confusion amongst the attackers they had sallied forth without so much as a thought from their corner and had brought their weapons to bear with murderous results, neatly slicing their way through the front two assassins as if their armour was non-existent, with the unnamed Blade, a tall, young Redguard, making for the lone unharmed one. The one Maraea had attacked was stumbling around, and, hunched over, clutching at the fused remnants of his face and mask in complete agony, and was oblivious when Glenroy delivered a graceful coup-de-grace to the back of his neck, striking head from body in one swift movement.

With the fall of the final assassin, which the other Blade had calmly impaled with his katana, an awful stillness descended on the scene. Maraea was on all fours now and shaking uncontrollably, her coughs intermingled with loud vociferations of her trying not to be sick. It wasn't horror or revulsion which was causing it, though she could not deny that what she had done was certainly horrible, but the sudden adrenaline rush, combined with her illness and the shock of her actions were taking their toll on her body in its weakened state.

"Sire, are you unharmed?" asked Glenroy.

"I am, for the moment; you should see to our friend here before we continue."

Glenroy offered out his hand, and upon Maraea grasping it, he hauled her to her feet with relative ease.

"Baurus," he said, calling over to the other Blade, "do you have any potions on you to help the prisoner."

"Not of the kind she needs," he replied. "Healing only."

"I found these. I don't know if they're of any help to me, do you have any idea?" Maraea opened the pouch containing the scavenged potions and handed them to Glenroy. He tried the second potion first, smelling it then tasting a little of it. He shook his head and handed it back to Maraea. However, he had barely removed the stopper of the first bottle before he looked hopeful.

"This should help, I don't think it'll cure you but it'll bolster you a little." He handed it to Maraea who pressed the bottle to her lips and drank the liquid in one, long draught. The taste of garlic dominated it, and Maraea remembered how her mother had prized garlic as a wonder to combat various ailments. Whenever she had been ill as a child, she had spoon-fed Maraea with a vile mixture of garlic oil, crushed mandrake root and ashes from the fire pit. It was engrained enough in her to believe that this potion would do some good, and perhaps it was this, more than the weak potion brewed to make the drinker more resistant to disease, that restored the colour to Maraea's cheeks and brought a warm sense of stillness to her heart.

"You did a very brave thing, prisoner," Glenroy said, his voice softening slightly. "You could have been killed. Risking your life to protect your sovereign is an honourable thing indeed, and for that you have my respect. Are you good to continue in our company?" At this question the one called Baurus looked like he was about to protest, but refrained from doing so.

"I'll manage," Maraea said, and for the first time in ages, she smiled, only ever so slightly, but it was a smile nonetheless, and she turned to face the Emperor who stood a short distance away, having been waiting patiently for Maraea to be seen to.

"I am sure by now you know who myself and my guards are," he said in his strong, rumbling voice "but I nevertheless apologise for not giving ourselves due introductions before; I am Uriel Septim the Seventh, by the grace of the Nine, and these mean are Glenroy and Baurus, two of my most trusted guards." He paused for a moment and gave a sigh, his face saddening in thought. "Though I know that destiny is weighted against them and their duty, this hour. It is no shame to admit defeat against such force as that." The two Blades looked at one another. They did not seem to show any offence at the Emperor's words, but they looked worried; they evidently trusted his word as much as he trusted them. The Emperor continued.

"I am certain my fate as laid out by the Nine, and marked in the heaven's above, and I know that I now go to my grave, and am reserved to that fate.

"And what of ours?" The question, admittedly stemmed from the fear for Maraea's own life, and for the other two; if the Emperor was correct and was indeed to meet his end in these dark, winding passages, were his killers to take his Blades and Maraea with them? The Emperor smiled, evidently hearing the intent behind the question.

"Your stars are not mine, and as such I do not know where your fate lies, but I wonder, which sign shone upon you at your birth?" Maraea almost laughed; that kind of superstition she expected from her mother, not the Emperor of all Tamriel, but then she looked again to Uriel's kindly face, and the look of sincerity in his eyes moved her. Perhaps there had been more to mother's superstitions than she had given credit.

"The Lover…I was born under the Lover."

"Then today, the Lover will sweeten your journey as you confront your fate." Maraea had expected more than that, some sort of amazing revelation of her coming life, but the Emperor said no more as Glenroy ushered for the group to resume their journey. Maraea was about to fall in behind the trio, when the second Blade, the one named Baurus, turned to face her, stony faced.

"As much as the Emperor trusts you, I don't, not one bit," he said quietly, thrusting an unlit torch into Maraea's unprepared hands, causing her to nearly drop it immediately. "You stick close and let us do our jobs. Interfere with the latter and by Talos, you'll regret it." He didn't give her a chance to respond, simply turning his back on her to fall in line with the Emperor and Glenroy who had already set off. Maraea stood still for a while, more unhappy than indignant at Baurus' display of distrust, though it was probably down to the pressure he was under at this awful moment in time. She certainly didn't want to add to it, and she promised herself there and then that she would stand by them all, come what may, and with that in mind, she lit her torch and hurried after them, down through the passage that they had left through.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Firstly, my apologies for not uploading a new chapter sooner; my laptop died, and only since the arrival of the new one have I had access to my files. As before, reviews and constructive criticisms would be greatly appreciated.**

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Chapter Three.**  
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It didn't take long for the group to walk into another ambush. They had apprehensively rounded a corner and descended down a flight of stone steps into another small chamber.

"For Lord Dagon!" cried the assassin who had been waiting in the corridor before them as he held his hand high, summoning his kit and with a cry of rage, broke into a run, his mace poised to strike. Almost in tandem with this, two assassins appeared to materialise in thin air to the group's right, having been waiting silently for the right moment to strike on a nearby ledge, and with Glenroy fending off the lone assassin from the corridor they chose their moment and leapt down. Baurus, seeing the threat, positioned himself between them and the Emperor, yelling at them to take him on, his outstretched katana ready to greet them.

These two, however, had evidently planned well how they were going to carry out their attack. Baurus attempted to slash at the first one, but the assassin blocked well with his armoured wrist guard, and with an exclamation of defiance swung his mace into the side of Baurus' exposed helmet. Fortunately for the Blade the blow lacked strength, but nonetheless it was enough to concuss and stagger the Redguard, and with the nearest threat incapacitated, both assassins moved onto the robed figure that they had been sent to kill. The Emperor held a silver short sword in his hand, waiting for them to approach; evidently he was not going to accept his 'fate' lying down, but nonetheless the old man didn't stand a chance against two younger, capable men, and indeed, as the first one came bounding over to deliver the fatal blow, the Emperor's thrust merely glanced off his armour as the mace came speeding down, towards the Emperor's unprotected head.

Maraea, caught completely flat-footed until now saw she was the only one in a position to act, and in an unbelievable moment of haste she dropped the flaming torch, drew the short sword from her belt with one hand, and pushing the Emperor very ungraciously from where he stood with the other, she moved in to the space that he had previously occupied and blocked the mace. It took all her strength to do so, and she realised that on her own all she could do was keep the assassin busy for a while until someone else could step in and help.

The assassin's initial surprise was soon replaced by fury at the realisation that he had been robbed of his quarry, and with a cry which left a ringing sensation in Maraea's ears, he forgot his discipline and began a frenzied assault on Maraea. Maraea couldn't think about anything as she blocked and dodged for her life, the assassin forcing her back towards the far wall. He seemed to wield his weapon with almost boundless strength; one moment it came from one angle, then in the blink of an eye it came from a completely different direction all in a blur, and after a few terrifying seconds Maraea was tiring under the barrage he was delivering, having to hold the blade of her sword with her one hand in support of her other on the hilt to withstand the onslaught.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maraea witnessed a recovered Baurus, bellowing at the top of his lungs as he bull-rushed the other assassin away from the Emperor, smashing the hapless agent into a nearby wall, and as he appeared to be without his weapon, he grabbed hold of the dazed man's head and yanked it in one direction with a nauseating crack.

Then Maraea felt a sudden, crushing pain in her left arm as the assassin, having unwittingly taken advantage of the distraction provided by Baurus, drove his bladed mace into it, the harsh Daedric metal biting into her flesh, and she gave a cry as she staggered and fell. She looked up at the assassin, whose masked face stared down back at her coldly, and the mace in his right hand swinging to and fro. It was coming down any moment now…

With all his might, the assassin brought the mace crashing down, and Maraea forced herself out of the way, grazing her self in several places as she did just in time to see Baurus grab the assassin from behind, and pulling the unsuspecting assassin's head back, broke his neck. Then, without so much as an acknowledgement that Maraea was there, he went to assist Glenroy, who was helping the Emperor off the floor, his fine robes now dirtied where they had met the ground. Leaving them to that, Maraea examined the wound on her arm. It didn't look good; the wound was large and dirty, and was weeping trickles of blood all down her arm in alarmingly copious amounts. She considered tearing off some of the sack cloth that made up her garments, but they were dirty and soiled, and she reckoned that they would do more harm than good, and after replacing her sword at her hip and getting up, she reserved herself to simply applying pressure on it, clutching it firmly in her right hand.

She walked over to rejoin the group. And upon seeing that she was hurt, Glenroy requisitioned a healing potion from a reluctant Baurus.

"We can't just let the prisoner have our supplies," he complained to Glenroy. "We need it more than her. Hell, what are we going to do if we need one, and she's taken them all? She's a liability to the mission!"

"Calm down Baurus," Glenroy replied. "It's only a single potion, and besides, without her help, I'm not sure we would have a mission to complete any more by now." He had evidently seen her save the Emperor, and he looked apologetically at her as is to apologise for Baurus' attitude as he undid the cork on the potion bottle and handed it to her. The bitter taste of cairn bolete filled her mouth as she swallowed; another ingredient that she remembered in her mother's store cupboard, dried and kept in a large jar.

"It will take a while for it to take full effect, but the wound will at least stop bleeding for the time being." Glenroy was right, as Maraea could physically feel the wound reacting to the potion, and before her eyes the blood stopped welling up, and the inflammation which had been setting in was already subsiding. "hopefully you took it soon enough to prevent scarring."

Once again, Maraea felt her mood improve; in fact, she almost felt like her usual self despite the dire circumstances she was in and the fever, which, though much subdued, was still making her feel queasy. Perhaps it was the potions and the honest, helpful attitude of Glenroy, but Maraea felt better all the same.

"Baurus," The Emperor suddenly spoke.

"Yes Sire?" the Blade replied, immediately canning the attitude he had shown to his other comrades.

"You have no reason to fear her," he said, motioning to Maraea. "She means well, and she will prove how valuable she really is during the coming storm."

"Yes, Sire." Baurus, as much as he tried to sound convinced, did not sound at all convinced. It felt like if he was going to stop mistrusting Maraea on the grounds of allegiance, he was more than happy to reserve himself to mistrusting her on the grounds of competency. However, the Emperor said no more on the matter, and with Glenroy's instructions the group continued onwards.

"_Valuable? Coming storm?" _Maraea couldn't help but be slightly frustrated at the Emperor's words as she walk behind him. Though he spoke with the authority of wisdom as well as of position, for such ominous portents, he was giving them all very little to go on. It reminded Maraea of her mother; she had a habit of giving grand but hazy answers to even the simplest of Maraea's questions, the habit of which annoyed Maraea.

The two Blades were ever more wary now that they had walked into a trap so unwittingly, and when the next band of unfortunate assassins attempted to take the party by surprise, they paid dearly for pulling the same stunt a second time. Maraea didn't even have to drop her torch as the two warriors herded them away from the Emperor and cut them to pieces without too much difficulty, and without much time wasted, the group pressed on through another door.

"I don't like this," exclaimed Glenroy as he surveyed the next room. "Let me take a look." The Blade descended down some steps and disappeared from sight for a few uncertain seconds, and both Baurus and Maraea looked anxious when he did not come back. However, their rising worry was quickly replaced by relief when Glenroy optimistically called to them, saying that it seemed safe.

"It's clear! We're almost through to the sewers!"

"The sewers?" Maraea asked Baurus.

"It's our ticket out of here."

"And after that?"

"I'm not sure I should share that information…the assassins might be listening."

"Perhaps," Glenroy said, butting in before Maraea could respond, "but at the rate of luck we've been having, these assassins will be harrying us all the way anyway." Now Maraea could see Glenroy, who was standing in front of a large, iron gate. He casually tried to open it, but when it failed to swing open, he attempted with increasing force to coerce it into opening. Finally, he turned round, looking frustrated.

"Blast! This gate is barred from the other side," he said angrily, his short attempts at removing the obstruction not having met with any success. Baurus tried his luck, meeting with the same results, and the two of them, unintentionally or not, did not even consider asking Maraea to try before they started looking for alternatives. All of a sudden, the harsh screech of rusty metal permeated the air, making Maraea grit her teeth in discomfort, and the party wheeled round to see the way back was now blocked by a formidable looking portcullis. They were trapped, and the two Blades were looking around frantically for another way out, swords drawn and prepared for the attack which they were certain was imminent.

"What about that side passage?" Baurus asked, suddenly pointing to a small opening in the wall not too far away.

"It's worth a try, let's go!" With a Blade in front and behind the Emperor, they made for the opening, only to come to an abrupt stop; the chamber beyond was a dead end. The two Blades looked at the Emperor, then at each other with a look which Maraea imagined a cornered beast would have as it steadied itself to stand its ground one last time. It wouldn't be long until the assassins where here, and sure enough, from somewhere back from where the group had come came the sound of battle cries of the assassins in the name of, as Maraea presumed, their master Mehrunes Dagon, and the air became filled with the sounds of both the wispy crackle of magicka and the clanking of the devilish armour that it summoned.

The Blades knew immediately what they had to do; the assassins would have to come down the passage one by one to get to the Emperor, and it would make the two bodyguards' task of protecting him a little easier.

"Wait there with the Emperor. _Guard him with your life!_" Baurus called out to Maraea when he was already halfway down the passage. For some reason, Maraea felt touched by the gruff command; perhaps finally she had earned the Redguard's reluctant trust, and she was, as well, more than happy to not be in immediate danger.

However, as she watched, she realised that the two Blades had made a very grave error in their judgement. As deadly and determined as they were, the incredibly small space in the passage gave almost no room for them to use their long, slender katanas effectively, and Maraea couldn't help but grimace at their owner's misfortune as attack after attack was fouled when their blades caught and scraped against the stonework. In contrast, the assassins' summoned maces were shorter, and their advantage in tight quarters was soon evident, even from Maraea's limited place of observation. After only a few gut wrenching seconds, the foremost assassin took advantage of an awkwardly delivered swipe by the nearest Blade, whom from her place at the rear Maraea couldn't identify, and delivered a viciously lively blow in the centre of the unfortunate man's chest, and the Blade silently sank first to his knees, then fell backwards slowly, as if he was falling through water. The pressure was now furiously focused onto the last remaining bodyguard, who was doing everything in his power to halt the assassins' advance, using every trick in the book and more to keep them at bay.

Maraea pulled out her short sword with a feeling of dread growing steadily in her chest. It wouldn't be long until the Blade fell, and the assassins would have no qualms with cutting her down in the process of getting to their target. She began to shake, the blade quivering as she held it out in front of her.

"_I don't want to die, by the Nine! I don't want to die!"_

But she would, and mustering all her courage, she reserved herself to her fate. Though in her time she had had little reason to be anything but apathetic towards the Empire and her ruler, she had been tasked with defending the Emperor with her life, and that was exactly what she planned to do, cornered and weak as she was.

She was about to make her way over to help the one remaining Blade, when a hand lightly placed itself on the back of her shoulder, and surprised, she turned round to see the Emperor, a look more grave and resolute than she had ever seen before, with the amulet that had hung around his neck now clutched in his right hand.

"This is where my journey ends," he began, handing the jewellery to Maraea. "Take this amulet; without it, the enemy cannot accomplish their dark plans. Take it to Jauffre; he alone knows where to find my last son." There was an odd noise from behind the Emperor, but when Maraea tried to look, he grasped both her shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. "Find him, and close shut the doors to Oblivion."

The assassin found his mark as he jumped out from the secret passage, and with a single, well-placed blow to the head he felled the Emperor where he stood, and for a moment, both the assassin and Maraea stood there, looking down at the old man's body as his brains leaked out onto the stone floor. The successful attacker did not savour his victory for very long, however, and he began to round on the shocked Maraea.

"Stranger, you chose a bad day to throw your lot in with the Septims," he said, smirking behind his armoured mask as he began to attack Maraea, who did her best to fight back. To her surprise, and out of sheer ferocity she had backed the assassin into a wall, and a fluke of a hit had disarmed her opponent, the mace vanishing in a cloud of orange magicka before it had even touched the ground.

Maraea held the blade to the assassin's covered throat, ready to kill him if he attempted anything, though in all honesty she hoped that she wouldn't have to. As things were, she hadn't the stomach for killing. She looked into the eye holes of the mask, willing the man not to do anything rash. However, the sudden sound of clanking armour behind her gave the agent the distraction he needed, and mace in hand once again, prepared to launch a renewed attack, knocking Maraea's blade away effortlessly, only to be met with Baurus' blade as it pierced his gut and came out the other side.

Maraea watched as Baurus pulled the blade out and shoved the assassin to the floor and, slowly, with a look of mixed despair and frustration on his face stooped over the body of the Emperor in prayer.

In her battle with the assassin, Maraea had dropped the amulet that the Emperor had given to her, and it rested on the floor near to her, and she stooped to pick it up. It was a magnificent piece of jewellery; a diamond-shaped, blood red gem as big as the palm of Maraea's hand, set in solid gold, and surrounded by lesser stones of different colours, but there was something about it which Maraea couldn't put her finger on, which seemed to tell her that its purpose was a lot more than just to look impressive.

She began to straighten up whilst placing the amulet in one of her belt pockets, but she had barely had the time to face up when she found the tip of Baurus' blade lodged uncomfortably in her throat. She looked up in surprise to see him, katana in hand, a maddening look of anger in his dark eyes.

"First you fail the duty set out before you, then you add insult to injury by robbing the dead…hand over the amulet, slowly."

"But…!" Baurus pressed harder on his sword, cutting her off.

"I should kill you where you stand. You failed! I…I failed," he said, his voice and gaze faltering for a moment. "It should have been us, not him." But then all of a sudden he was back, anger replenished, pressure on his blade increasing to the point where Maraea thought that she couldn't take much more, and without looking she fumbled with the pouch where the amulet rested.

"Wait…stop!" Baurus, without letting his blade wander, turned round in surprise to see Glenroy crawling up the passage towards them, over the robed bodies of the assassins which Baurus had recently dispatched. "Put your sword down, Baurus, the Emperor gave her the amulet to-". Glenroy stopped in mid-sentence to cough up some blood, and Baurus, removing his sword from Maraea's throat, hurried over to aid his comrade with the potions he carried. After Glenroy had downed two of Baurus' elixirs, he sighed as the potions began to work noticeably, and a slight look of relief and hope lightened his features, before he continued, slower and quieter than before. "he gave her the amulet to take it to Jauffre."

"Impossible," Baurus said, incredulously dismissing Glenroy's words. "Why would the Emperor give it to _her_? Even if he did, it's better off with us!"

"You know…knew the Emperor; dragon blood or not, he could see more than lesser men…". Glenroy was evidently having trouble speaking now, as every few words he had to stop and take deep, ragged breaths. "And I for one…am inclined to trust his judgement with this girl…and we carry out the Emperor's will; as it stands, she has been trusted with the task."

"She failed, Glenroy! She failed to protect the Emperor!" Baurus began to shout at his wounded companion. "This…" he said motioning to the Emperor's body "…is her fault!"

"Damn you Baurus, you know it's…not her fault…it's ours! She did her best…we all did…our best…and now all we've got to go on…is what the Emperor asked…." Glenroy looked at Maraea. "What is your name, prisoner?"

"Maraea, Sir."

"Well Maraea…do you promise to…carry out what has been asked of you?" Maraea felt the weight of the amulet in its pouch, heavy enough for its presence to be noticeable, and with its presence, Maraea heard the Emperor's words once again in her mind, as clearly as if they had been spoken out loud.

"I promise," she said, slightly louder and clearer than she had expected, but nonetheless is was sufficient for Glenroy.

"Well, that settles it. Baurus, give Maraea the key to the sewers, she'll need to go through there to get out. Maraea, you go to Weynon Priory…just outside the walls of Chorrol. You'll find Jauffre there. Now go; we'll be fine…Baurus…potion."

"But…how do I get out of here?"

"Only one way that I can see," said Baurus, pointing to the passage from which the assassin had come from as Baurus grudgingly gave Maraea the key. "From its direction, I guess it'll take you where…we were trying to get to anyway." Maraea nodded to Glenroy in thanks; thanks for showing her the way, for calling Baurus off, but mostly, for trusting her, and with that, she clambered up into the passage and set off as fast as her tired frame would willingly take her.

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**A/N: Taking reviews from Arty Thrip and DualKatanas into account, changes have been made so that Baurus tends to Glenroy earlier than he did previously.**

**On DualKatanas' advice, the paragraph involving Glenroy and the iron gate has been altered slightly to convey that Glenroy speaks, _then _tries the gate, rather than at the same time.**

**Taking NoSoundComes into account, 'Will all his might' has been corrected to 'with all his might' and the phrase 'the blow lacked strength, but the blow was enough...' has been changed to 'the blow lacked strength, but it was enough...'. Further checking for spelling issues and repetition will be carried out.  
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